Impavid

“Faster,” Cain shouted. My legs were burning as I tore down the surf, hands pumping at my side. Finnick was running next to me, just as tired as I was. Running in the sand was one thing, but running where your feet were dragging through the water was another thing entirely. But, it built endurance. “Time!”

Finnick and I crossed our makeshift finish line. It was really just a bunch of shells in a crooked line that was five feet in length, running down to the water’s edge. My calves were burning as we got out of the knee deep water, both falling on the sand and taking deep breaths of air.

No one was around to notice that we were training, but I doubt they would have cared anyways. We weren’t allowed to train for the games, but it didn’t really seem to matter much to the capitol or the districts. Districts 1 and 2 trained kids for the games illegally, so we so no harm in training ourselves.

Cain’s shadow fell over my face. I raised my hand to block out the sun, still painting. He had a stop watch in our hand. For the past week, every day after school he would come to my house, timing us, pushing at us, just being there as Finnick and I pushed ourselves to the very limits of what we could do. We were both struggling.

My morning swims and runs had been nothing compared to what we were now doing. Cain was constantly throwing nets on us, timing out long it took for us to get out with our bare hands. He would make us run with backpacks full of sand, and he would make us run through knee deep water, screaming the entire time that we needed to pick our knees up.

For a kid, he was one hell of a mentor. Something that he should have never had to be.
My parents did not mind him spending his days with me. I knew that my father had understood the chances of me not going in were slim. With twenty five percent more chance than the other women, I was done for. Only a bright twist of fate could save me.

Never rely on fate. It is a cruel, harsh winter when you want a warm, soft summer.

“Two seconds better.”

“Ugh, only two?”

Cain nodded. Finnick let out a noise. “You sure you’re reading that right, Candy Cain?”

Cain glared at him. “Yes. Get up. You have to practice with tridents.”

“Where are you getting tridents, exactly?”

“Well- they’re sticks. But you get the point, Lana.”

“I suppose that I do.”

Ten minutes later, I was looking doubtfully at Finnick with a stick in my hand. He too looked confused, eyeing the stick with a single brow raised. He was shirtless, light pants slung low on his hips, which was more distracting than Cain gesturing for us to attack one another.

I on the other hand, was in the same pair of pants and a tight, constricting bra that was sweat proof and let me move fluidly without having to worry about my breasts getting in the way.

“This isn’t heavy enough, Cain,” I said finally, putting one hand on my hip. Cain crossed his arms. “And it isn’t pronged at the end. How am I supposed to pretend it’s a trident, when it quite clearly isn’t a trident.”

“You’re the one with all the money.”

“What, you want me to buy one for the sake of practicing?”

He grinned. “Then use the stick.”

I looked at Finnick, who was smirking, looking between Cain and I. “Not a word, Odair.”

Finnick shrugged, dimple appearing in his cheeks as he smiled at me. It was not out of character for him to either pick my brother’s side, or to sit back and become mildly amused at our sibling quarrels.

We circled on another. I felt ridiculous, but I let my mind go, focusing on the balance of the stick in my hand, watching Finnick as he crossed one leg over the other, moving to my side as I followed suit, moving away from him. His eyes were scanning me, looking for some sort of pattern in my body to strike at.

When he struck, it was lightning quick. I expected it though. Finnick had a single tell tale sign of when he was going to attack. I had only ever noticed it once and up close, a mistake more than a trained eye. Right before Finnick would strike forward, his trident forearm would twitch, as if flexing the muscle there.

It was the smallest movement, but it gave me the time to step to the left of the thrust, spinning around him and whacking him on the back with my own stick. He let out a noise of surprise. A snort escaped my nose.

We faced each other again, Finnick glaring at me. This time I moved first. He blocked my thrust, spinning his stick to connect with mine again. For a few minutes, we were locked in an even battle, both of using parrying and giving attacks. For a minute, I thought neither one of us would gain the upper hand.

That was until Finnick swept his foot out, knocking my own completely out from under me. I hit the ground hard, coughing for air. He was on my waist, pointing his stick at my throat, a sideways smirk on his lips. His wagged his brows. “Dead.”

“I killed you first.”

“Hitting me across the back doesn’t kill me.”

“It would if it had been a sword.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“What? How do you know I don’t have a sword in the arena?”

He rolled his eyes. “Like you would use a sword.”

“What? It’s a weapon.”

“But its-"

“Would you guys either stop arguing or get a room?” Cain asked, both hands resting on his hip. I turned my head as I lay in the sand. Finnick was still sitting on me, also glaring at Cain. Cain looked at the two of us, putting his hands up. “Proceed.”

Finnick and I looked at one another at the same time. “It doesn’t matter,” Finnick said finally. He crawled off of me, twisting to sit in the sand. I sat up, grains clinging to my entire body. “You’re not going in.”

I tried to sound indifferent. “Where you go, I go.”

“Lana-"

“Shut up, Finnick.”

For once, he listened to me. I didn’t want to talk about it with him. It made me absolutely sick to my stomach to think that he could be taken into the games, taken back to where all of our horrors began, taken without me. I knew that Finnick didn’t need me as much as I needed him, but it was something I couldn’t let go of, something that I refused to have him endure by himself.

Getting up, Cain told us we were done for the day. The sun was beginning to fall faster and faster towards the horizon, it’s yellow fading to a hot orange. Saying nothing more to Finnick, I walked with Cain until we reached my old home and his current home. I could smell fried fish and something else, some sort of spice, wafting through the window.

Cain turned to me when he got to the steps. I grinned at him, bringing him in for a hug. We didn’t say much, and like always, I didn’t go inside. There was nothing that I wanted to say to my parents and nothing that they could say to me to make me feel better. I didn’t want to feel better. I just wanted it all to go away.

Walking through the village had gotten nearly impossible to do with any sort of comfort. People stopped talking when I went by. They gave me sympathetic smiles, or confident ones. A lot of them nodded at me, like they hope that I would be chosen and that I would make my district proud like I once had. Those were the worst, the ones who looked excited. Those were the people I wanted to kill at night when I dreamt.

Slowly my dreams went from vicious nightmares about dying in the arena, to vicious nightmares about killing in the arena. It was like I was no longer a victim. I was a villain.